Each dusk my heart breaks a little more.
Yearning to be held,
to hold,
to be cherished.

I am deprived of love;
taxed with every thought.
True affection comes with a price;
and I willing to pay.

For my heart continues to break at the thought of;
At the thought of—
At the thought of,
Loving,
And not being loved in return.


b.m